


integration is a delicate thing

by lateralvoid



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aliens, F/M, Interspecies Sex, Original Character(s), Porn With Very Little Plot, Psychic Abilities, Science Fiction, Space Marines, Teeth in unusual places, Trans Male Character, Xenophilia, tonguefucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 14:48:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12684051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lateralvoid/pseuds/lateralvoid
Summary: Peacekeeper Chance Landfall is a competent Marine, charged with the task of integrating new species and cultures into the ranks of Galactic United, but it's taking his best efforts to remain professional with the intimidating Ởiet Spokesperson, Nuj. Keeping his mind on achieving their mutual goal proves harder than he expected when Nuj turns out to be fantastic at eye-fucking despite not having any eyes.





	integration is a delicate thing

**Author's Note:**

> maiden voyage, ahoy.

When she walks toward me in the dark hallway, I feel like I’m being faced down by a solid marble carving of a xenomorph, only less phallic. A second later the lights sense the motion and start flickering on one-by-one, which makes her upbeat trot even more terrifying, somehow.

Nuj pauses to examine me, shifting her weight so part of it is resting on her massive, reptilian tail. Her skin is opalescent like a gemstone, but if you look carefully you can see she’s actually covered in tiny fish-like scales. I try not to get close enough to manage, but she always fixes that for me. Whenever she’s perceived what she’s searching for — I really can’t say what it is, because she doesn’t have eyes, or a nose, or visible ears, though I’ve been told they _do_ have them — her lips peel back to reveal her hundreds of short, needle-thin teeth. “Greetings again, Peacekeeper Landfall.” Her voice comes out static; for whatever reason, the neural translator implant in her unnaturally long, sloping neck can’t properly adjust her voicebox.

Her entire species is unnerving to look at. I’ve conducted dozens of integrations with species displaying all sorts of unique traits and features, and I haven’t been this unnerved since I was just a Corporal. Still, she’s pretty funny when she wants to be. I almost laugh.

“We’re just playing cards, Nuj. Don’t you think you can call me Chance?”

“That would be improper,” Nuj responds, and gives me a light, playful shove.

By which I mean, she uses kinesthetic mental currents to physically push me out of her psychic radius. Which, yeah. I adjusted to that fairly well, because it was better dealing with her lack of arms than the thought of her lifting one of her freakishly powerful raptor feet to grab me with. Nuj insists that they only use orthotic manipulation when their psychic radius is inefficient at properly handling something, and she doesn’t understand why that doesn’t lessen my apprehension.

Nuj is the Ởiet spokesperson, so we’ve spent most of the past three weeks in each others’ company. Tonight is the first time we’ve agreed to meet outside of business hours, and I’m full of wild, nervous energy. We’re not usually _alone_ together, but the hall outside my office is empty of any other bodies but hers and mine, and the inside is similarly vacated. I push the access button behind me so the door opens again, and gesture her inside.

“You didn’t forget the cards, did you?” I don’t even know if their radia have precise enough control to play cards, but I make the joke anyway. She smirks at me with her sharp gash of a mouth and walks daintily inside.

We’re not going to play cards, in case that isn’t clear.

Taking a deep breath, I follow her inside, letting the door _whoosh_ shut behind me.

The only thing that differentiates Ởiet females from the males of their species is the olfactory organs: long, angled tears crossing either side of their chests where a typical vertebrate’s ribcage would be.  They look like vents, almost, with thin interlocking barred structures buried about half an inch inside the gaping mouth of each orifice. These are what Ởiet use to… do everything, just about. Breathing, smelling, seeing. Don’t ask me how it works. It’s not my job to know any of that stuff. Anyway, men only have two broad ones, where Nuj has four, two on either side of the jutting hills of her thorax.

… Which is not to say I’ve spent any particularly long amount of time studying _any_ of these physical details, up to and including the pristine black of her clawed feet. I just noticed, over time. It’s normal when you’re around someone so often, and they look so unusual. You just start realizing things, dilated eyes shifting to study whatever’s closest, heart-rate surging as you hope they don’t notice, having no damn idea if they even could or not. Then you lick your lips, and maybe hope they can.

Right.

When Nuj shifts to look at me, it’s with her shoulders and hips, not her head. A shudder runs up my back. “I regret to inform you that I _did_ forget the playing cards, Chance. They’re back in my bunk.”

I swallow. “Maybe we can go get them, later.”

“Later,” she agrees, and smiles.

I’m still a bit taller than her, which is amazing. She’s so close I can see the folds in the skin of her face. Apparently that’s how they tell each other apart, aside from… voice, and posture, and personality, and… the usual stuff. It means nothing to me yet; all I can focus on is that wide rictus smile, the only feature that calls out to me as _human_.

But I guess it’s time to admit to myself that what I like most about her is everything that calls out to me as _not-human_.

It’s a good time to admit it, because my back hits the door, dangerously close to one of my bookshelves, and then Nuj is in my face.

“How do you fuck?” she asks, wrapping her tongue curiously around the new profanity. I want to know what _fuck_ sounds like in her language, but I don’t bother trying to find out, only in part because words are sticking in my throat. All words, including any I might use to answer her. She laughs, a see-saw sound. “I guess I’ll find out.”

Then she kisses me. I guess some things are at least kind of universal.

I haven’t touched her — anywhere, at all — in the entire time we’ve been working together. She has no hands to shake (express politeness by shifting your weight and nodding) and I don’t _do_ casual camaraderie (even though she nudges and bumps me with her radia as often as she can get away with). So it makes sense. It also makes sense why I jump when I feel the pressure of her radia guiding my hands forward until I can feel the smooth texture of her scales for myself. My palms land somewhere around whatever passes at her waist, and I can’t help but squeeze to test the firmness of it. She’s not soft there, not like a human stomach, but she does feel pliant.

Nuj moves one of her thick-boned bird legs forward, setting it between my feet so she can press against my front without stepping on me. She rolls her weight around between both legs and her tail, and the position she settles on puts her thigh squarely against my crotch.

I choke on her tongue. Nuj pulls away, looking like she’s inspecting me for something wrong, and then she figures it out. “Oh,” she says, pleased, arching her shoulders forward so she can— look, I guess, down toward my hips. “So _that’s_ where.”

It’s not a lot of contact, just even pressure, but the adrenaline has got me twice as sensitive, so when I manage words it’s only a strained, “Fuck, Nuj…”

She laughs. “Yes, I guess so.”

Too crazy to be afraid — look what I’m getting off on, after all — I push forward, rolling down on her thigh as I kiss her again. Her lips are firmer than any I’ve kissed before, but sleek, not chapped at all, and she keeps her teeth politely away from any of the parts of me that could be damaged by them… which is every part, and I hope she knows that. She touches me with her radia, starting at my neck and moving down. I wheeze when she rolls over the tight binding on my chest, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

It’s such a _weird_ feeling, unlike anything I’ve experienced at the hand of… actual hands. An even pressure, rolling, almost like a very solid wave. Maybe similar to the mechanisms in a massage chair more than anything, but smoother. It feels like it’s _inside_ me, and outside, at the same time. She reaches my hips and pins me by them, running the tip of her tongue along the inside of my teeth, experimental and searching. I’m way too scared to return the favour but take the opportunity to suck lewdly on her tongue, which I stop after a startled jerk because she makes this sound, and it takes me a moment to realize that it was a moan.

She bucks against me, pressing the flats of her teeth against my jaw — not biting, not really threatening, just. Telling. I get it. Yeah.

Too curious to stop myself, I drag my hands all the way down her body, past her hips to the tops of her thighs. I really don’t feel anything reminiscent of genitals down there, and she doesn’t react with especial interest when I flatten my palms against the muscle and press in, rubbing a hot, emphatic line over her scaled skin until I reach the swell of her tail. I let my fingers trace the base of her spine for a moment, and then she shudders, and then she dips her mouth to her neck, teeth-points coming _dangerously_ close, and sucks.

My hair is in my eyes, blonde streaks blurring my vision. I’m groaning too hard to care, closing my eyelids to shut out the unneeded stimuli. I usually keep it slicked back, but it’s come loose from all the nervous sweat.

Her radia rolls against-into me once more, and her lips move down. She uses her tongue like a searching organ, touching my clavicle with intense curiosity before she deems it safe to greet with the rest of her mouth. I withdraw my hands from her, trying to undo the tiny button on my stiff collar. I succeed, but that’s the only thing I get to do, because Nuj follows my example and in one swift gesture pops all my buttons (actually _pops_ one, that’s going to be hard to explain) and lets my shirt hang open, exposing the stretchy, half-length undershirt beneath. I think she’s about to try taking that off, too, which concerns me because I’d rather she not rip it, but I’m mistaken in my assumption.

Nuj drops to her knees, tucking her thick toes in the space between my ankles. She sits like a bird, tail not quite laying straight behind her, rather propping her up. Her upper body twists in the most sickeningly unusual way, chin falling back and breastbone rising so she can see-smell my reaction, and I hope it’s worthwhile, how my eyes are no longer closed, instead looking down at her with stunned wonderment.

Palms hot, pressed flat against the cool metal surface of the door, I try to shake my hair out of my face so I can see her better. She smiles — her head looks like it’s dislocated — and pushes it back for me.

I know my face gets red when I’m flustered and when I’m turned on, and right now I’m both, so I must look like a god-damn spectacle. I lose interest in musing on how I look when she leans in and lets the tiniest edge of her teeth come in contact with the hollow beside my hipbone, sensitive enough that I buck in terror so sharp it’s almost painful, arousal so powerful that it _is_. “I liked that,” Nuj says, like we’re having a normal conversation, and does it again, but better.

Can’t scream, it’d trigger the distress sensors, so I cover my mouth and bite into the meat of my palm. She continues to work her mouth around that soft, vulnerable skin, right above the waistband of my uniform pants, and that’s when I feel her radia pat around between my legs. She’s off-mark, but making a dogged effort to find _where_ she can touch to best reduce me to dust, and I know it won’t be long until she nails it.

Anticipatory, I take the liberty of yanking the zipper down, forgetting that there’s an inner latch so that when I try to tug my fly open and fail, I let out an embarrassingly distressed sound.

Nuj knows how pants work. I’ve seen her in them before, actually, although Ởiet prefer not to wear anything that limits their movement. This is fortunate, because she bats my hands away, gentle like a warm ocean current, and is perfunctorily delicate as she undoes the clasp for me. I want to shove my pants down at that point, but I want her to do it even more, so I make what might be a risky move and set my hands on the top of her head, stroking over the chipped-gemstone scales.

It’s apparently not offensive, my doing that, because Nuj makes a pleased sound, although I don’t think I’d know it was pleased if she wasn’t rubbing her temple into my palm at the same time.

“You’re so fun to play with, Chance,” Nuj says, laving her tongue wetly up the inside my wrist. Not something I’d usually find sexy, but from her it’s… promising. She’s six inches away from my groin, after all. “Do I have to ask permission?”

“No,” I say, but I’m glad she asked regardless. She’s polite, even with her unsubtle, lascivious flirting.

There’s no time to think beyond that: Nuj peels away the front panels of my pants, and pushes them down to my knees. She’s faced, then, with the confusing and complicated puzzle that is my undergarments, which I address after she freezes. The jock unclips easily, and I wiggle the shorts-portion down my legs, joining my pants. Regaining her control of the situation, Nuj disposes of them both. Afterward I feel weird standing there in just a shirt and my shoes, so I toe them off awkwardly, and when I finish I see her, back arched, inspecting my crotch.

“I thought you were a male,” she says thoughtfully, shifting her thorax to examine from a different angle.

“I am,” I grit out, painfully turned on with her so close to my now-exposed cunt, but ready to cut my losses and ditch if this is going to be a _thing_.

Nuj lifts her chin further, breathes in deeply, and then huffs a quiet laugh. “You’d know, I guess.” And then her tongue slides between her teeth and worms up inside me, and I just about die.

She has no hair anywhere to pull on, so I try to be gentle as I cup my fingers against the back of her head, dragging her closer but wary of pulling her _too_ close and nicking myself on her teeth. Nuj seems unperturbed: her tongue moves up in me like no toy nor dick ever has, and I’ve had pretty good variants of both. She spreads my thighs, then apparently decides that’s not enough room and, without missing a beat, pulls my left leg out from under me and settles it over her shoulder.

I do my best to muffle the sounds that force their way out of me, and pray the distress sensors know the difference between being stabbed and being fucked.

Her tongue slithers so far in that I can feel her teeth pressing against my pubis, and at this point I trust her but I think I’m getting off on the danger aspect anyway. She figures out my clit on her own, like she can read my mind when I think of how to get at it with her head so close, and then there’s her radia prodding at it until I’m half doubled over, no longer able to control my harsh, desperate noises. It’s a short affair, shorter than maybe any sex I’ve ever had, because I’m usually caught up in some amount of self-consciousness and it takes me a while to relax.

In contrast, the whole point of this is _not_ to relax, and furthermore the person I’m fucking is so phenomenally, bone-chillingly alien that it’s hard to waste time on judging my own anatomical shortcomings. Anyway, I’m not thinking of any of that drivel when I seize up, orgasm ripping through me like a plasma ray.

(Apparently the sensors can tell the difference after all.)

“Tits on a plane,” I say, when I can talk again. She returned my leg to the ground at some point, and I didn’t even notice. She’s holding my hips steady so I don’t collapse. Very considerate.

“What are tits?” Nuj asks, rolling back so her weight is more on the base of her tail.

My hands shake, but I reach up anyway to undo the fastenings on my binder. “These. Now, how do I fuck you like that?”

Nuj whistles out a pleased chuckle, and then pulls me down to her level, half sitting in my own pooled clothes, legs on either side of her knobby ankles. My cunt is still sensitive; I jerk a bit at the contact, then jerk again when I feel her touch curiously at my chest. I’m about to call her off because I need at least a minute or two of cooldown, but she backs away on her own. “Put your hand here,” she says.

I blink, because there’s nothing to see. “Where?” I start to ask, but she grabs my hand and leads it to the lower set of openings on her chest.

Oh. My god.

“How do—” My words cease when I feel the inner barring start to part, the stuff I mentally described as gills on a vent not twenty minutes ago, and I realize with mild fascination and outright horror that they are _teeth_. “Holy fucking shit, Nuj, holy shit.”

“Don’t worry, Chance,” she purrs, apparently satisfied with my reaction rather than offended. “I won’t hurt you.”

But she could.

I proceed slowly, but refuse to call the touch hesitant because in all honestly I’m obscenely excited to do whatever it is that she’s encouraging me to do.

The teeth— recede, kinda, sucking into the surrounding flesh and leaving a bluish opening, a dark spot in the otherwise iridescent swirling pink of her skin. Pushing forth, I’m (almost) not surprised at how cool she is inside; it _looks_ like it should be. Then, after an inch or so, I feel it: a thick wetness, pulsing, squeezing around my fingers then letting go.

I realize that I am, more or less, fucking her _organs._

The foreignness of it is almost enough to take me out of the moment entirely, until I hear a high, wheedling sound unlike any Nuj has made in front of me before and change my mind hard. My hand slides in up to the second set of knuckles.

Her head hits my shoulder. “Should I—” I demonstrate, pushing my fingers in and out, “Or…” I don’t know what other motions to use as an example, too worried of hurting her with my hand halfway inside her thoracic cavity.

Nuj grunts wordlessly, and arches her back so my fingers slip further inside, and says something that doesn’t translate, if it was even meant to mean anything at all. “Just move them,” she instructs after a hot moment, her voice even more gravelly than usual.

Okay. So, I cautiously roll my fingertips in a wave against the the top wall of her— uh, opening— and shiver when she clenches around me, like a pussy but flat and cold and nothing like a pussy at all, actually. I don’t know why I bother attempting these mental comparisons instead of doing things like flexing my whole hand and levering it so the pads of my fingers press hard and up, fucking in deep, and clasp the back of her head when she jerks and moans.

I try different things, most of them mindless, twisting and stroking and, most importantly, never slowing the steady stream of movement. She seems to like it better when I keep as far in as possible, so I try not to pull out too much while I’m getting creative with gestures.

Nuj takes longer than I did, but doesn’t seem any less thrilled from it, even shifting at one point to push my head back and run her long tongue over my nipples, having figured out that humans have erogenous chest parts, too. They’re hypersensitive from being bound, and I start to feel outdone, gasping and jerking against her like a virgin, so I steel myself against the feeling and calculate the most successful technique I’ve used so far: a wave-like, full-hand undulation; palm down, pressure firm and direct and unyielding and—

She screeches louder than I did, parting her teeth against my shoulder; the top row nicks my skin, but I don’t bleed. Even if I had I wouldn’t care about it until much later, if at all. I push down as hard as I can, rubbing inside her steadily as she rides it out, her insides tightening around me so snugly that all I can do anymore is push back. Eventually Nuj’s thoracic muscles relax, and she nuzzles my temple with hers when she slowly, shakingly draws herself away, leaving a string of thick grey-blue mucous connecting my hand to her chest. I watch the teeth close again, and shiver.

We end up slumped side-by-side on the floor, breathing heavy and in tandem. It’s an interesting counterpoint to our physical differences, the way she has to angle herself so not to mash her tail against the wall, the way her chest moves in heaving gasps but not her actual mouth.

“Hey, Nuj?” I ask after a second, wiping the sweat off my brow with the back of my wrist. I turn to look at her, breath still short. “I, uh.”

“Yes?” she prompts, the word accompanied by a rolling, rusty groan.

“I was just wondering,” I say, considering my question. She brushes my damp hair out of my eyes and waits. “You guys don’t have hands, obviously, and… Ởiet men don’t have those, uh. Second set of holes that you do?” Holes? Slots? Fuck if I know. “How do you guys…” I trail off. This is embarrassing; I’m usually very professionally spoken, and here I am committing the number one infraction of asking how an allied species has sex.

Nuj leans very close but doesn’t kiss me. Her breathless lips are so strange and fascinating, leftover spit making them shinier than usual.

“I guess you’ll have to stick around to find out, Peacekeeper Chance Landfall.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> cute, right? i'm very attached to these two, i just wish i cared about the setting rather than just their sex hijinks. 
> 
> ~ [follow my tumblr for more slop.](https://lateralvoid.tumblr.com/) ~


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